


Reheated Cliché

by TechnoXenoPhiliac (TechnoXenoHolic)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Earth Construct AU
Genre: (except not really), (not that it matters much for this fic), (tarantulas has the anatomy for it so i'm warning jic), Blizzards & Snowstorms, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Fraternizing With the Enemy, Girl Whirl, Implied Self-Image Issues, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Interspecies Sex, Lap Sex, Mentions of Ultra Magnus and Soundwave, Mild Blood, Mild Cum Inflation, Non-Human Genitalia, Non-Human Mouth, Other, Oviposition, Pronouns Read Like Het But It's Not Really, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Sex In A Cave, Sex Without Romance, Sharing Body Heat, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tarantulas Absolutely Just Goes Around Naked All the Time BTW, Tarantulas is Genderqueer, for real though don't read this if you're looking for actual ovi i'll post some of that later, i don't think this is pwp it ties into the greater ecau canon, i really wish i could reorganize my tags!! @ ao3 staff Please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnoXenoHolic/pseuds/TechnoXenoPhiliac
Summary: Whirl and Tarantulas have a truce in the middle of a blizzard. Tarantulas (poor technorganic bastard) is cold—and Whirl, for all her tough exterior, is a bleeding spark for the little ones. It's cliché, and it reads like a bad porno that even Whirl wouldn't want to watch, but neither of them actually minds.





	Reheated Cliché

**Author's Note:**

> before you read: [have a look at what my versions of whirl and tarantulas look like (and the size difference between them)](https://imgur.com/a/PlgxZ)
> 
> if you want to know more about this au, visit <http://tfecau.tumblr.com>

Whirl huffed and crossed her arms as she stalked through the network of tunnels. There were several ways out, and the place wasn’t winding enough to get lost in; that wasn’t the issue. The issue was the howling blizzard outside and how long it had been ravaging the icy wasteland of fuck-knows-where shitty place Ultra Magnus had dropped Whirl off to do reconnaissance hours and hours ago.

Someone was putting out ‘weird Decepticon signals’, apparently. Not that any signals were getting in or out of this damn blizzard.

Whirl sighed and slumped against the wall, tired of staring out at the white-out snowfall. She turned her back to it to get the cold wind off her face. The only thing she had to do was walk around this shitty cave, and soon, she was just going to start punching icicles or something.

The howling wind was the only thing she could hear. It made her antsy, but she refused to let the paranoia get the better of her.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice—awful, high and scraping.

Whirl jumped. She turned sharply, wings flared and immediately ready to attack.

The voice had come from a lone insecticon, who must have snuck in while her back was turned. She supposed she might have been more intimidated by those powerful-looking auxiliary limbs on the insecticon’s back if he weren’t tiny and shivering, literally covered with snow. The mandibles beside his pincered mouth worried stiffly at the sides of his face as he spoke.

“Looks like I’m not the only one caught out here in this mess after all.” The insecticon giggled breathlessly.

“What’s so funny?” Whirl demanded, sitting back on one heel.

“Nothing at all,” said the insecticon. He wormed one hand free from the bundle of arms crossed over his fluffy chest and waved it dismissively, then plucked the fogged visor off his face and blinked all six optics, one pair after the other. “Force of habit. Truce?”

Whirl stared—and decided, as cold as this insecticon looked, he was no threat to her. “A’ight, I’ll bite,” she said, and she tried to ignore the insecticon’s resulting tittering. “We can truce ’til this storm’s out. Where the hell’d you come from?”

The insecticon brushed a bit of snow from his fur and clutched his hand back against his body, shoving his visor under one scrawny arm. “Where do you  _ think?” _ he spat, and he shivered violently. “Is there anywhere  _ other  _ than that awful blizzard out there?”

Whirl considered for all of a second before saying, “Yeah, a whole cave system. I’ve probably been wandering around in here for an hour already.”

The insecticon hesitated, then shuffled forward. “Is it any warmer, farther in?”

“Yep.”

“Then since we’re having a truce and all, would you mind the company?”

“Tell me your name first and maybe,” said Whirl. She finally let her wings fall, loosening her posture.

“Tarantulas,” he said, straightening up a little himself. She recognized the name, but couldn’t quite place it. “And yours?”

“Whirl,” she said. Tarantulas nodded like he already knew that and snickered, but she didn’t grace it with a response—just told him “C’mon, then.”

Whirl headed back through another loop of the cave, towards a warmer area. Tarantulas scampered to follow, hastily brushing snow from his fur as he chased after her.

* * *

Tarantulas couldn’t keep up with Whirl’s quick strides for long, and she was running out of rations that didn’t need to be unfrozen before eating, so the two of them sort of wandered into a mostly enclosed bend in the tunnel with some space and sat.

It was quiet, save for all the quiet shivering, clicking sounds Tarantulas made. Eventually (after only about half a minute) Whirl got tired of listening to it, so she spoke up to at least try and drown it out.

(Punching him would have been quicker, and more fun, but… truce. And even a half-frozen insecticon could and would probably string her up and eat her. So… talking.)

“So, why are  _ you _ out here in fuck-you nowhere?”

Tarantulas’ auxiliary limbs briefly paused in the middle of rubbing together over his head. “Oh, you know,” he answered, and he trailed off in that cackle Whirl was already getting weirdly used to. He rubbed his hands through the fur on his upper arms, hugging the lower set around his belly. “The  _ lovely _ scenery—and the privacy.”

Whirl snorted, then fanned her wings out and sprawled back against the cave wall, kicking one leg over the other knee. “Alrighty then, freakazoid.”

Tarantulas bristled indignantly. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice pitching higher. “I’m not a  _ freak,  _ I am a marvel of scientific ingenuity!”

“Shit,  _ that’s  _ why I recognized your name!” Whirl exclaimed, sitting forward again sharply and crossing her legs. “You’re that weirdo scientist creep!”  _ And possibly the reason she was out here—was he the one sending up weird signals? _

It couldn’t be, though—this signal junk was all Soundwave’s MO. Tarantulas was probably just in the area, following his usual pattern of showing up near every potential battlefield in the hopes of finding a corpse to desecrate or something after the fighting ended.

_ “Creep,” _ Tarantulas muttered bitterly. “You’re one to talk, wrecker.”

Whirl decided just to keep rolling with this truce thing and shot him a lopsided grin. “Aw, c’mon,” she teased. “Lookit me—you think I looked like this straight off the line? I  _ like _ creepy.”

Tarantulas snorted… but he did look, rubbing his hands together “You’re not creepy,” he decided.  _ “Creepy _ is more Soundwave’s thing.”

Funny  _ they _ should come up.

Whirl barked a laugh. “Sure,” she scoffed, then again leaned back with a smirk. “You  _ still  _ cold, spider?”

“It’s negative forty out there,” he sniffed.  _ “Plus _ windchill. My fur can only do so much. I’m not properly warm-blooded like  _ some _ organics!”

Whirl considered that. Tarantulas was a decepticon—a predacon, an  _ insecticon. _ But they had a truce, and she was always a little more soft-sparked around the littler ones… She sighed and shifted, making her lap a more comfortable place to be. There was no question, honestly.

“C’mere, then,” she said, holding her arms out. “I’ll crank it up a bit.”

The widening of Tarantulas’s six eyes was almost comical. Then he laughed, curling tighter into himself instead. “I’m not stupid, wrecker.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Whirl huffed, making a small, impatient gesture with her outstretched arms. “We got a truce, remember? Hurry up before I change my mind and let you freeze.”

Tarantulas still hesitated. But then he slowly, cautiously uncurled from his pitiful ball and inched forward.

Whirl rolled her optic and looked away. A moment later she had an insecticon gingerly lowering himself into her lap. She snugged her arms tight around him and tucked his head against her shoulder; as tiny as he was compared to her, their torsos were surprisingly close in size. It made him easy to hug.

Tarantulas stayed stiff for a moment, but then gingerly curled his multitude of limbs around Whirl’s warm frame, chest to chest. “It’s still cold,” he groused.

“Shut up,” Whirl muttered, petting the plates of hard carapace striped down Tarantulas’ spine. “You gotta gimme a minute to get my shit on high.”

The minute passed, and Whirl’s frame had barely warmed. Impatient, Tarantulas stroked a claw along one of Whirl’s plating seams. “I could speed this up…”

Whirl blinked, then squinted at him. It was hard to figure out his expression with all those eyes and weird mouth pincers, but… was the insecticon  _ smirking? _ Whirl snorted, then quickly devolved into raucous cackling. “What is this, a bad porno?”

Tarantulas shrugged and petted one of Whirl’s wings—she stilled immediately. “Maybe,” he said, trying for a low, enticing tone. He failed miserably, but the odd rasp in it got the point across anyway somehow. “You did say you like creepy and then invite me into your lap to warm up…” The wheezy giggling was darker this time.

Whirl had to admit he was right, but it was still ridiculous. She shook her head with a grin. “You’re a real piece of work, huh,” she said, purring despite herself. “Heh, why not? Been a while since i got laid. Whatcha got under all that fur, spider?”

One of Tarantulas’ hands came up to grab Whirl’s wrist and pull her hand down to his hip, laughing again. “Why don’t you give it feel, see if you find anything you like?”

“Maybe I will,” Whirl murmured, and she scraped a fang against one of the spikes extending from Tarantulas’ helm as she slid her hand lower. He gasped against her audial, squeezing her tighter, and she grinned against one twitching mandible.

Tarantulas’ fur was… much softer than Whirl though it would be. She spent a moment just carding her fingers though it, clawed finger caps barely encountering any tangles. The ones she did find slipped free with no effort. She absently petted the small of Tarantulas’ back as she worked, paying close attention to the joints of Tarantulas’ hips, where his thighs spread open around her own wider ones. The biolights on his inner thighs were a fair bit warmer than his mesh—skin?—and she traced them curiously for a moment until Tarantulas shivered and hissed at her to hurry up.

“Easy,” Whirl purred. She briefly moved her hand away to shake the pointed caps off her fingers, stretched them, and then slipped her hand back into the cleft of Tarantulas’ thighs.

There was fur here, too; slightly coarser, a little thinner and shorter. She stroked through it, rubbed the warm skin underneath, and reveled in the gasps against her audial.

“Been a while for you too?” she muttered.

Tarantulas made a noise that could have meant ‘yes’, or just ‘shut up and keep touching me’.

Smirking, Whirl rubbed a little harder and found her way between the lips of Tarantulas’... whatever, she was going to call it a valve. It was slick, warm, and she breathed an appreciative sigh as her fingertip found the rim.

Tarantulas shuddered and mouthed at Whirl’s neck with the strange pincers around his mouth. “That’s good,” he choked out. “Keep going.”

Whirl made a thoughtful sound and pushed her finger in—Tarantulas made a gasping, clicking noise and trembled in her lap. “I wonder,” Whirl said quietly—unusual for her. “Could you take my spike, spider?” It strained behind her codplate, but she ignored it for the moment.

Tarantulas laughed and rolled his hips into Whirl’s hand. “Yes,” he hissed, then gasped again when Whirl’s thumb found his ovipositor housing. He had no external node anymore (an unfortunate side effect of biology) but that was effectively just as sensitive as his node had been before his upgrade; he struggled not to let the not-quite-spike free, muttering another pleased affirmative despite himself.

“Yeah? You wanna see it, Tarantulas?” Whirl whispered. “You wanna see what I’m gonna fuck you stupid with before I ram it up your pretty little valve?”

Tarantulas made a choked sound and grabbed at Whirl’s wrist urgently. She pushed both fingers in deep and twisted,  _ stretched; _ he arched with a desperate little whine, auxiliary limbs digging into the cold rock above Whirl’s helm. “Show me,” he wheezed, laughing almost blissfully as he stroked Whirl’s forearm. “Prove you’ve got something worth taking.”

“Don’t have to,” said Whirl, and she released the latches on her codplate. Her spike immediately knocked the loosened armor free when it extended, grazing the biolights and fur of Tarantulas’ belly.

He looked down, then leaned back so he could see around Whirl’s chestplate. “Slag,” he whispered tremulously. “It might  _ not _ fit…”

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetie,” Whirl crooned, spreading her fingers inside Tarantulas’ valve. “You can take it.”

Panting open-mouthed in a way that showed his fangs off beautifully, Tarantulas shuddered and reached down to stroke the huge spike resting against his belly. He ground his hips forward, rubbed the ridges decorating its underside against his ovipositor housing and whined shrilly over Whirl’s breathy curse.

“Maybe,” Tarantulas rasped. “Oh, I  _ hope _ so.” He looked at Whirl sharply, black eyes hazy and half-lidded.  _ “Make _ it fit.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Gonna fill you so good you forget what every other spike you’ve ever had feels like,” Whirl promised. She drew her fingers from Tarantulas’ valve, chuckled at his whining, and lifted him by the waist with her other hand. She slicked her spike, lined it up with Tarantulas’ valve, then eased her grip on his waist again to let him move. “Go slow.”

Tarantulas huffed, then grabbed Whirl’s shoulders and forearm tightly. His free hand reached down to slip through the fur of his array, holding open the lips of his valve. Shuffling his mandibles anxiously and clicking in the back of his throat, he carefully started to lower himself onto Whirl’s spike.

“That’s it,” Whirl purred, her helm lolling back and scraping against the rock behind her. She petted Tarantulas’ thigh and rocked her hips a little—caught the rim of Tarantulas’ valve with the first ridge of her spike—and he keened. She grinned lazily. “Good spider… c’mon, you can take more than  _ that…” _

“You said slow,” Tarantulas argued. He steadily worked his hips lower, panting.

“Aww, but lookit you, following my orders. Some queen,” Whirl teased, a little huskier than before.

Tarantulas hissed and dropped his helm against Whirl’s spacious chestplate to hide his flush. “What do _you_ know about the insecticon hierarchy?”

“I know pretty much jack shit,” Whirl admitted. She gripped Tarantulas’ hips in both hands and pulled him down sharply.

He threw his head back again with a cry. “Witch!” he spat, clawing at Whirl’s plating. Then he heaved a deep breath and demanded,  _ “Again.” _

“Frag yeah,” said Whirl, and she pulled Tarantulas down a little farther still, braced her pedes against the rocky, icy ground, and jerked her hips up to fuck him.

In no time at all the insecticon was clinging to Whirl’s plating and moaning, the shrill, grating mews interrupted by frequent, breathless cackling and encouragement. Anyone else might have been put off, but when Whirl buried her face into the soft fur around Tarantulas’ collar and grazed his throat with one broken fang he dragged his sharp, deadly claws down her chestplate in a shower of sparks and she groaned and stopped caring.

“More,” Tarantulas demanded. His awful voice was strained, desperate. “Harder.  _ Hurt me.” _

“Fuck,” Whirl gasped against his throat, and she hauled him down so hard their hips met—fucked him open the way only an insecticon could be—and he threw his head back with a screech.

Whirl dug her fingers into Tarantulas’ hips so hard her clawed hand broke the skin. Watery, golden-colored blood spilled from the wounds around her fingers. Tarantulas clutched at her, at the back of her helm, and nuzzled her urgently. She bit at his pincers, made him gasp and pull them away, then… Fuck, as if she knew what to call the part of his mouth she kissed. Sharp fangs, delicate fur over soft flesh. His pincers dug into her face, scratching pale, stinging lines into her gaunt cheeks, and his mandibles bumped the decorative plating that came down over her jaw.

“Almost there,” Tarantulas laughed breathlessly, and Whirl wasn’t sure if he meant her or himself. Her hips were stuttering and his valve was fluttering in a way so much weaker and less steady than a mech’s artificial calipers but  _ fuck _ if that wasn’t hot as hell. She clawed up his thigh and he gasped shrilly and she kissed him again, harder, desperately, to keep from saying the stupid things she always said when she overloaded.

It was the heavy warmth that bowed out the softer carapace on his belly as Whirl filled him that sent Tarantulas over after her. He whimpered, grabbing at the mech so tightly that he broke a few claws on her plating.

Sore and panting and wonderfully warm and satisfied, Tarantulas slumped limply into Whirl’s arms with a series of throaty clicking sounds. She collapsed against the cave wall, sliding down a little bit and tucking her knees up to keep Tarantulas from slipping out of her lap.

“Damn,” Whirl breathed. She absently petted Tarantulas’ hip—a little ways above the damage she had caused, where there was less fur and so it was even softer.

Tarantulas purred in agreement and snuggled into her. His ovipositor had escaped its housing at some point and lay heavily between them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Whirl, though, seemed pleased. She stroked his back and then petted one of his auxiliary limbs, kissing the place where his nose used to be. “Gimme a minute and we can go again, if you want,” she teased, with a grin all fangs and intent.

Tarantulas shivered, only partially due to the returning cold in the cavern. “Mm,” he grumbled. “If only we could insulate this place better first.”

Whirl cackled at him and called him a wimpy bugsicle. He was  _ almost _ tempted to eat her for the materials to spin a web with to keep out the cold.

Almost.

He settled for leaving plenty of bitemarks this time.


End file.
